


Stallions on the fly

by feroxargentea



Category: due South
Genre: Cowboys, Humour, M/M, Romance, Undercover as a Couple, due South Seekrit Santa Treat, stetsons, undercover on a dude ranch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-13 16:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16896108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feroxargentea/pseuds/feroxargentea
Summary: “Thissucks. This whole gay cowboy thing sucks. You wanna know why?” Ray swung the reins against Dolly’s neck and she looked up enquiringly, still chewing her mouthful of grass. “’Cause I’m not a cowboy and he’s not gay.”





	Stallions on the fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ride_Forever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride_Forever/gifts), [squidgiepdx (squidgie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/gifts), [verushka70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/gifts).



> Written for due South Seekrit Santa 2018 as a treat for the mods. With thanks to cj2017 and Wagnetic for the beta, and to CKR for the hair.

* * *

 

“This _sucks._ This whole gay cowboy thing sucks. You wanna know why?” Ray swung the reins against Dolly’s neck and she looked up enquiringly, still chewing her mouthful of grass. “’Cause I’m not a cowboy and he’s not gay.”

Dolly snorted, a soft “whrrrruff” of sympathy, and went back to cropping the turf. On the far side of the paddock, Fraser was busy with his cowpoke-wannabe act, showing off to the accountants and the dentists and the used car salesman, and to their assorted girlfriends. Mainly to the girlfriends. Even the ranch owner’s wife was out there, leaning on the split-rail fence as if she had nothing better to do all day than watch him lassoing steers like a pro.

To be fair, he’d gone along with the gay thing too—gone along with it surprisingly well, considering he’d only been roped into the undercover gig the night before, when Elaine had come down with the flu. “Certainly, Ray, that sounds like fun,” he’d said brightly. “Although I’ll have to borrow a saddle, as I don’t have mine with me.” He’d even, once the “couples’ retreat” business had been explained to him, slung an arm around Ray and introduced him to the other guests as his partner without blinking or tugging at his collar. Because, hey, that wasn’t a lie, was it? At least they’d gotten a room with twin beds, so the sleeping arrangements weren’t going to be an issue. The rancher’s wife had taken one look at them and claimed it was the only room she had left. Yeah, like Ray hadn’t heard _that_ one before.

Because Ray? Ray had the queer thing down pat. It was the cowboy thing that sucked ass.

“You just ain’t built the way I like ’em, sweetheart,” he told Dolly in his best roughrider’s drawl, as he swung gingerly down from her saddle and looped her reins around the fence rail. “If you were wired different, maybe. If you had left stirrup for brake, right stirrup for gas...”

She whickered and tossed her head at him.

“I know, I know,” he said, scratching under the rim of his borrowed Stetson, where wisps of sweat-dampened hair were sticking out at weird angles. “It’s not you, it’s me. I can’t even make the hat look good.”

Shouts of applause were drifting across the paddock from where Fraser had just corralled the last of the cattle. He waved at Ray as he cantered back towards the straggle of other guests, his tall black stallion gleaming in the sun. Dolly eyed them wistfully, tugging at her reins.

“Yeah,” Ray said softly. “You and me both, girl. You and me both.”

 

* * *

 

Ray dipped the brim of Fraser’s hat into the bathroom sink and scrubbed at it with the washcloth. He’d always assumed they were somehow non-stick, but he’d been trying to wash the mud off this one for ages and it hadn’t worked.

He soaped it again and rinsed it under the faucet. There, not too bad. He glanced round before wiping the condensation from the mirror and trying it on, turning his head this way and that. Nope, just as dumb as his own Stetson. It definitely wasn’t the hat.

“It’s me,” he told the mirror dolefully.

Fraser stuck his head out of the shower, where he’d been singing some improbable song about glue and saddles. “What’s you, Ray?”

(Of course he’d heard. He always heard. He had the ears of a bat.)

“Nothing,” Ray muttered, tossing the hat into the bedroom. “I just…I felt like an idiot out there today, Frase. All of them watching us, and I couldn’t even steer the damn horse.”

Fraser turned the water off and stepped out of the tub, and Ray passed him a towel without turning round. (Okay, he _might_ have caught a glimpse or two of creamy skin and dark hair in the mirror, but that wasn’t his fault. And anyway, it was all part of his cover story, right?)

“Is this about Ms. Gadds?” Fraser asked, toweling himself vigorously. “I would have waited for you, but then I might not have been in time to stop her husband stampeding her mare off the edge of the bluff.”

“Nah, you were just doing your hero thing. I know that.” Ray passed Fraser his jeans and went back to tweaking at his own wayward hair. “Cute heiress saved, gold-digging husband caught, case closed, nobody hurt except the hat. It’s all good. It’s just...they gave me a horse called _Dolly,_ Fraser.”

“I’m sure they didn’t mean anything untoward by it,” Fraser said, pulling on his jeans. “She’s an excellent mount for a novice, patient and placid and—”

“So are the rest of ’em, except yours. That’s not why they gave her to me, and you know it.”

Fraser frowned at him in the mirror. “Hmm. Turn around, Ray.”

“Huh?”

Fraser twirled a forefinger in the air, and Ray did as he was told, standing very still while Fraser squeezed gel onto his fingertips and ran them through Ray’s hair, creating the requisite artfully mussed look in five seconds flat.

“Son of a bitch,” Ray said. “How’d you learn to do that?”

“Long observation.” Fraser reached past him to rinse the gel off his hands. “You have plenty of skills, Ray. Perhaps not in rodeo, but then when did either of us last need to lasso anyone in Chicago?”

“Uh, three weeks ago, when you roped that guy who was about to stab that other guy with the spike thingy on the deck of the Lord Whatsit.”

“The sailor with the marlinspike on the Lord Nelson? Well, yes, that’s technically true, but the Tall Ships Festival is hardly the norm. For the other fifty-one weeks of the year, your skills are far more applicable than mine to most urban situations.”

“Yeah, right. What skills? Dancing? Fucking? Boxing?” Ray threw a few shadow punches, little jabs that stopped just short of Fraser’s bare chest.

Fraser pulled at his earlobe. “Well, dancing and boxing are both reliant on poise and rhythm, just as horsemanship is. You need a little more practice, that’s all.”

“So’s fucking,” Ray said. “Think I should practice that too?”

Fraser blushed hard (a blush, Ray noticed, that went right down to his jeans. Huh, interesting.) “And of course there’s your police work too,” he went on quickly, evading the question. “You’re an excellent officer, with an exemplary record. You should be proud of that.”

“Yeah, chicks love the way I take statements and fill out warrants. It really razzles their berries.”

“Admittedly I can’t speak for them, Ray, but I find it quite inspiring watching you build a case.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you do.”

“I _do,”_ Fraser insisted. “Your groundwork is impeccable, your leaps of deduction are exhilarating, and—although perhaps I shouldn’t confess this—I sometimes find myself hoping our suspects won’t crack too quickly under pressure, just so I can watch you interrogate them for longer.”

“Quit kidding around, Fraser!”

“I can assure you I’m serious. The energy and vigor of it can be quite…stimulating.”

Ray stared at him. _“Stimulating?”_

Fraser tried to tug at his collar, or where his collar would have been if he’d been wearing a shirt. “Um, informative?” he offered.

“Informative?” Ray said, stepping closer and ducking his head to try to catch Fraser’s gaze.

Fraser stood his ground, though he wouldn’t meet Ray’s eyes. “Well, educational, then.” His chest was still damp, Ray noticed, with tiny droplets of water gleaming against the pale skin. As Ray watched, a fresh drop gathered at Fraser’s hairline and slid slowly down his neck, across the planes of his torso, and under the waistband of his jeans.

Ray blinked and looked back up. “Educational, huh?”

“Yes.” Fraser hesitated, licking his lip. “I mean, regarding local law enforcement procedures and so forth.”

“Right.” Ray edged another half-step forward, so close that they were nearly touching. “Local procedures…”

“And so forth,” Fraser agreed. His voice was almost steady, but he was breathing kind of hard, and his hands were starting to stray towards Ray’s hips.

“Cool,” Ray said. “’Cause I, uh, know all kinds of procedures, Frase.”

Fraser finally looked up, and his eyes were as wide and blue as the prairie sky. “Good,” he said, hooking two fingers into Ray’s belt and pulling him in. “I was rather hoping you might.”

 

* * *

 

Ray perched on the top rail of the corral, enjoying the sunshine and occasionally offering Dolly pieces of carrot from his pocket. He hadn’t bothered to saddle her this morning; he figured he had plenty of skills already. Besides, he hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep last night, and Fraser had kissed him awake again at crazy o’clock, and what with one thing and another he’d learned a whole new definition of saddlesore.

He shifted carefully on the rail, leaning more of his weight on the fencepost. The car salesman’s girlfriend—her name was Tammy, he’d discovered, and she was a student teacher—sat swinging her feet just to his left, and the ranch owner was slouched against the next post along, all of them watching Fraser as he demonstrated to the salesman how to throw a lasso.

“Aw, he’s so damn cute I can’t bear it,” Tammy said. “Hey, Ray, you wanna swap? Pete can get you a great deal on your next GTO.”

In the distance Pete flung the lasso wildly at the target, almost tripping his own horse up in the resulting tangle. Fraser retrieved the rope and had it coiled back into expert loops by the time Pete had gotten himself straight again in the saddle.

“Nah, I’m good,” Ray said. “I think I’m coming round to the whole cowboy thing.”

Fraser dismounted, handed the lasso to Pete, and strode over to the fence, his black stallion following him closely, man and horse a perfect Western silhouette against the cloudless sky.

Tammy giggled and waved at him, and he touched his hat in salute. Then he flicked a finger against its brim so that it flew up, flipped in the air, and landed squarely on Ray’s head.

“Howdy, pardner,” he said, leaning in to kiss him. “Are we about done here?”

Ray tipped the hat back, grinning at him. “Yeah,” he said. “Come on, cowboy. I think it’s time I took you home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fraser's shower song: [I Cain’t Get Offa My Horse ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xP7xSSrvknw)


End file.
